


Spies Like Us

by PhoenyxNova



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spy, Anal Sex, Assassination, Blood and Torture, Blow Jobs, Bombs, M/M, Minor Character Death, Psychological Torture, Random Encounters, Smut, Torture, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-09-06 05:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenyxNova/pseuds/PhoenyxNova
Summary: When two spies are sent to destroy each other, they quickly discover something much more sinister than they could have ever anticipated.





	1. AKA Bloodsucker

Crowley MacLeod swore loudly to no one in particular and slammed his hand down onto the steering wheel of his 1970 Buick Estate. It would just figure that he would get lost in the fucking hills of Kentucky. It was not a place anyone wanted to be, much less the people that lived there.

He didn’t even remember seeing a sign for the … well, it must have been a town. In fact, the only thing of interest for several miles was the general store, and that looked so run down it had to have been out of business. Crowley might have assumed it was, had he not seen a person enter the store. He followed them in and paid for a road map of Kentucky, desperately trying to figure out where he was. He was reluctant to ask the cashier at the store where he was, since it was already clear he was something of a tourist.

A few moments later, someone entered the store and Crowley pulled them to the side. The man was African American, with a full face and a goatee. His nose was straight, with wide nostrils, and he was clearly very athletic, if the shirt pulled a little too tight across his broad chest had anything to say about it.

“I hate to be a bother,” he said, trying to limit his obvious touristyness, “I seem to be a bit lost. Can you tell me how to get to Tennessee from here?”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the man said, clearly unimpressed by Crowley’s … well, everything. “C’mere.” He led Crowley back out of the store and around to the back. They walked for only about a minute and Gordon gestured to the empty street near them. “Congratulations, we are now in Tennessee.”

“So, just go down this road in that direction?” Crowley asked to confirm.

“Yep. That’s it.”

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the man. “Thank you so much. I don’t want my boyfriend to worry more about me than he has to.”

He turned to look at Crowley, eyes flaring angrily. “You said what now?” He didn’t give Crowley a chance to respond. He just broke into a loud, wild string of expletives and insults and slurs.

Crowley quirked a brow, completely unfazed. He let the man go off on his tirade and checked his watch. The man threw a punch at him and he dodged out of the way coolly, touching his signet ring to the man’s temple, delivering a few hundred volts into him.

He collapsed, unconscious, and Crowley sighed. He pulled out his phone and confirmed with his electronic dossier that he had the right person. Gordon Walker, male, 6’0”, 170lbs. This was his guy. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and glanced around. The town was absolutely deserted. Crowley hooked his arms under Gordon’s shoulders and dragged him back to his car.

The one good thing about rural Kentucky was that the houses were few and far between, tied perhaps with the fact that there were plenty of abandoned farmsteads. Plenty of secluded places where no one would hear them.

Crowley pulled into one of the empty barns and unloaded Gordon from his trunk, dragging him toward a chair in the center of the barn. Prepared next to the chair was a table littered with all manner of knives and implements.

With Gordon tied to the chair, Crowley picked up a bucket of water and threw its contents onto the unconscious man. “There, now. Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.” He pat Gordon’s face to wake him up, finally slapping him when it didn’t work. “There we go. Are we awake?”

Gordon glared up at Crowley and spat in his face. “Fuck off, fag,” he growled.

“Oh, now that’s not a pleasant way to start a friendship.” Crowley said a little too nicely. “Let’s start over, shall we? What’s your name?”

“Eat my shit.”

Crowley smirked and shook his head. He walked over to another chair several feet away from Gordon, dragged it over, and took a seat. “That’s not very nice, Mr. Shit,” he teased. “That’s also not what this little piece of paper says your name is.” He held up his dossier and thumbed through it. “I took the liberty of relieving you of your wallet. So, Mr. Shit, I know the names match. I just need you to give me an honest answer.”

“Go to hell.”

Crowley sighed and got up, walking over to Gordon again. “Now, now. The sooner you cooperate and tell me what I need to know, the sooner we can all go home.” He watched Gordon consider this for a minute and gently pat his face. “How about we start from the beginning again? What’s your name?”

“Gordon Walker,” he relented. Gordon looked up at Crowley, watching him as he took a seat again. “Who the fuck are you?”

“That’s not important.” Crowley picked up the dossier again and looked through it. “It says here that you’re part of a … well, an organization. Can you tell me what that organization is called?”

“Why the fuck are you asking me? You have all the information there.” Gordon rolled his eyes. It was clear he wasn’t going to take this seriously. After all, as far as he was concerned, this guy in front of him was a chicken shit pansy.

“If you would pay attention,” he sighed, “you would note that I _am_ prepared to take the information I want out of your hide. So, let’s try again. What is your organization called?” When Gordon remained silent, Crowley let out another sigh and set down his file. “Alright, we do this the fun way.” He stood and waltzed over to the table. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out his phone and turned some music on.

As Beethoven came over the Bluetooth speakers, Crowley picked up a large hunting knife and sliced into Gordon’s arm, from the tip of his middle finger, skipping the ropes binding him, and up to the crook of his elbow. Gordon cried out, clenching his fists instinctively.

“Why don’t we try this again, hm?” Crowley leaned in, almost eerily calm. He wasn’t strapped t a heart monitor, but if he was, it might barely register above 80. “I’d very much like to know what organization you work with.”

“The Church of the Faithful! FUCK.” Gordon grit his teeth against another cry, grunting in frustration. “Why the fuck do you want to know?”

“Consider me an interested party.” Crowley smiled and set the knife down, foolishly assuming that his guest might want to play nice now. “Tell me about the church. Do any of your lovely friends have names?”

“Of course they got names,” Gordon growled. “What? You think I’m gonna tell _you_?”

“Of course I do.” Crowley picked up some shears and flipped them in the air, catching them by the plastic handles. “If you want to keep all your fingers, that is. So, as we were saying. Names.” Gordon wasn’t talking. He was, apparently, still sure that Crowley was bluffing. But, that was no skin off Crowley’s nose. It might be some skin off of Gordon’s, though. He scoffed and snipped one of Gordon’s fingers off.

He let out an agonized cry and looked at Crowley. “You fucking bastard!” He tried to kick and stomp his feet, but to no avail. The ropes binding him held him too tightly. “Dwight Mahoney, Tom Norwood, Gunner Lawless, Samuel Campbell, the whole Bender family. That’s all I know, I swear!”

“Is it?” Crowley settled the shears around another finger, hand ready to squeeze. “What about your leader?”

“His name is Kurt Machalek.”

Crowley stopped and straightened up a little, hand still on his shears. “Huh. Interesting.” He drummed his fingers on the plastic handle and looked off to the side. “I might have to make a note of that name.” He pretended to think for a moment before snipping another finger off.

Gordon cried out. “AAARGH! What the HELL!?”

“That’s not the leader, is it?” Crowley hissed. “Give me the name.” Gordon was silent, apart from the cries of pain. “Is The Church really worth dying over?”

“Fuck no it’s not!” He took several deep breaths and looked the other man in the eye. “His name is Dick Roman. He’s ex-military, and he makes The Church xenophobic. I got swept in because I have friends in The Church. They’re planning to bomb the women’s clinic near the Parthenon in Nashville!”

“When?”

“Three days from now.”

Despite the news, Crowley smiled and pat Gordon’s still bleeding hand. “Much appreciated,” he said. “Give my best to your sister.” The bound man looked up at him, moderately horrified, until Crowley pulled a gun and shot him square between the eyes. A little bit of blood splattered on his face, but he barely seemed to notice.

From his jacket’s inside pocket, he withdrew a pair of glasses and slipped them onto his nose. “Merlin? The situation with The Church of the Faithful is worse than we thought.” He looked at the body in the chair to show his superiors how he’d had to gather the information.

“Dammit, Galahad,” Merlin said, “This was supposed to be a routine tail.”

“It was,” he confirmed, “but I overheard him on the phone talking about explosives, and I didn’t want to take any chances. The Church is planning to bomb the Vanderbilt Women’s Health Center. It’s entirely too close to the Nashville Parthenon. The number of tourists in the area will mean a lot more casualties.”

“Did you have to leave such a mess?” Merlin sounded more irritated than disgusted, but then again, Crowley’s methods tended toward the bloody and gruesome.

“No pain, no gain,” he teased, smirk curling the corner of his lips.

“We’ll send a cleanup team. What’s your location?”

“Abandoned farmstead, near the New Madrid Seismic Zone.” He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his face, glancing down to see if any blood had gotten on his suit. Luckily, it hadn’t. He wouldn’t need to change clothes today. “Book me a room at the Peabody Hotel, I’m not going to make it to Nashville tonight. I’ll head over there first thing in the morning and start surveillance. If I can stop the attack before it happens, I-“

“Yes, yes, we know. We’ll all be very impressed.” There was a moment’s silence before Merlin spoke again. “I’ve booked you the presidential suite at the Peabody Hotel. Will you be checking Graceland out while you’re in Memphis?”

“As much as I would like to indulge in a tour, no. Perhaps after I’ve taken care of The Church.” Crowley began packing up his various implements and knives, taking care to clean them thoroughly before packing them away. “Can you tell me about how far away the hotel is from here?”

Merlin sighed and plugged a few numbers into the computer. “Roughly two hours, depending on traffic.”

“Well, then. That gives me enough time to have a drink.” He smirked and gathered his things, heading for his car. Frowning at the station wagon, he tossed the bag of knives unceremoniously into the back and spoke up again. “Can you have a nicer car waiting for me in the car park at the hotel?”

“Sure. Anything else I can do for you, Galahad?”

“I think that’s all for now. Thank you, Merlin.” He kept his glasses on and focused his mind on the Peabody Hotel. Soon, there was a H.U.D. that popped up and highlighted the most efficient path for him to drive.

He followed the highlighted path and within an hour and a half was pulling into the garage of the hotel. He was inside the lobby just in time to see the Peabody Ducks march from the fountain to the elevator, and he smirked to himself. Well, even he had to admit, the ducks were charming.

It wasn’t long before he was checked into the presidential suite. He was in the room for just long enough to drop off his bags and realize he desperately needed to relax. It had been all work and no play for weeks now. He needed a break, even if it was just for one night. He changed his tie and double checked in the mirror that there wasn’t any blood on his suit. Though, he supposed someone might have said something to him if there was.

Pleased with his appearance, he used the elevator to get down to the first floor. When the doors opened, his eyes fell on the pub nearby. The unmistakable glow of neon lights suggested that, unlike the suite he was in, was not what one would call “high class.” Still, it was a place with alcohol, so he wasn’t going to be too picky.

As soon as he walked into the bar, however, he saw a masterpiece of a man sitting beneath the glow of a blue neon light. There was almost a heavenly glow around him, though Crowley was sure that was just his eyes playing tricks on him. He wanted desperately to talk to the heavenly man, but for now he decided against it. He was supposed to be on duty, after all.

Still, all work and no play…

Crowley sat at the bar, a few stools down from the attractive man, ordering his usual top shelf scotch. He tried to focus on his drink, but his eyes kept wandering over to the other man. Crowley couldn’t help but think it might be easy to fall in love with this stranger. It wasn’t just his looks, either … though that helped a great deal. The man had piercing blue eyes and artfully tousled hair. His jawline seemed to go on for days, and Crowley eventually caught himself staring at the man’s full lips.

_God I hope I don’t fall in love with you_. Crowley wasn’t sure he could take the heartbreak of falling for someone he might never see again. No, instead, he would waffle back and forth about whether or not he would even talk to the man.

He glanced up and saw that the man had gone, but a quick glance around the pub showed that he had merely gotten up to pick some music from the jukebox. Crowley’s heart beat rapidly in his chest as he watched the soft glow of the jukebox illuminate the young man’s face. Christ, he must have only been 28. Still, there was something about the man that was calling out to him.

The room was crowded, people everywhere. Someone nabbed the man’s seat, and Crowley felt his heart sink. The man glanced at the bar and saw his seat taken, deciding instead to lean against the wall next to the jukebox, lighting a cigarette. Desperate for conversation with the heavenly man, he wanted to walk over and bum a smoke, but they were still total strangers. He wanted to offer him a seat next to him, but what if he said no? _Fuck, why can’t I be smooth when it actually matters?_

Crowley was impossibly smooth when he wanted to be, but whenever he looked at this man, his brain would stutter and he would have no idea what to do or say.

His curiosity finally got the better of him, and he waved the bartender over to him, whispering to him to put that man’s drinks on his tab.

The bartender must have told the man what Crowley had offered, and the man looked up at Crowley. His eyes scanned him up and down for a moment before smirking, picking up his drink and heading over to sit next to him.

“I might have expected you to pay for an attractive lady’s drink,” he said through a thick Southern drawl.

“Well, you were half right.” Crowley smirked and took a sip from his glass. “I only spend my money when I see something I like.” That was smooth, right? Well, judging from the look on the man’s face, it was smoother than he thought it was. “Are you from around here?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” he chuckled. “My job has me travel around a lot. I love Memphis, don’t get me wrong, but nothing compares to Beaufort.”

“That’s … South Carolina, isn’t it?” Crowley smiled, somehow eliciting the same reaction out of the stranger. “I’ve been to Beaufort. It’s lovely there. All the lovelier now, knowing it produced someone like you.” With another sip of his scotch, he thought a moment.

But it was the younger man that spoke up first. “I hope I didn’t overstep any boundaries,” he drawled, “but I noticed you were here alone. So am I. I thought maybe we could share a drink and … see where the night takes us?”

Crowley was zoned out. The man’s southern drawl was absolutely intoxicating to listen to. He slowly smiled, more than a little relieved to hear the man offer to spend some time with him. Of course, he still maintained no expectations, but the hope that this would go the way he wished it would was enough. “What’s your name?” he finally asked.

“John.” With a sly grin, John reached his hand out to shake Crowley’s. “What’s yours?”

“Mark.” They shook hands and Crowley was surprised at the softness of John’s hand. He also marveled at how it seemed like their hands fit together perfectly.

They talked and drank for a long while, right up until the lights slowly brightened. The jukebox had long since stopped playing, and the bartender was collecting people’s tabs. Crowley looked away from John just long enough to pay for both of their tabs, using cash of course. When he turned to look back at John, he was nowhere to be found. It was too good to be true, anyway. That’s what he told himself. A gorgeous man like John was probably just being polite to the weird older man trying to pay for his drinks.

Hands tucked in his pockets, he walked out of the pub. His eyes were cast downward to look at the tiled floor on his way back to the elevator, but he glanced up at the fountain in the center of the lobby. John was sitting on the edge, and he apparently hadn’t seen Crowley exit the pub. His smile came a little easier. Was John waiting for him?

He barely took two steps toward him when John glanced around and saw Crowley. He beamed and jogged lightly to close the distance between the two of them. “I was wondering what might have taken so long,” he said pleasantly. “Do you want to keep the party going?”

_Fuck. I could listen to him read the bloody phone book all night and probably be happy._

“I do if you do,” he remarked with a smirk. “Your room or mine?” He hadn’t bothered unpacking his luggage, so really, there was no risk that John might see things he wasn’t supposed to.

“How about yours?” John said with a smirk. “Which room are you in?”

“The Presidential Suite.”

John whistled softly and smirked. “You sure I shouldn’t have paid for _your_ drinks? That suite costs a pretty penny.”

“Let’s call it a company expense.” Crowley smirked and gestured for John to lead the way to the lift. “After you.”

No sooner had they gotten into the elevator with the doors closed than John twirled Crowley into his arms and kissed him.

Crowley, for once, was caught completely off guard. He tensed as John spun him around himself, then tensed even more when their lips touched, but it was such a pleasant sensation, Crowley almost immediately melted.

“Oh, bless your heart,” John cooed, lips still brushing against Crowley’s. “You’re acting like you’ve never been kissed before.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m usually the one doing the kissing.” The older man grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled him into a deep kiss, tongue intruding into his mouth. John let out a surprised sound, but quickly gave into the kiss, hands sliding up Crowley’s back to rest against his shoulder blades.

It took a moment for the two of them to notice that the elevator had stopped and the doors were open. Somehow, Crowley managed to play it cool and stepped into the presidential suite, walking to the wet bar and pouring himself another drink. “Can I get you anything?”

John seemed relatively unfazed by the presidential suite, much to Crowley’s dismay, but he also couldn’t take his eyes off of Crowley. He stepped behind the bar and pulled him into a more tender kiss than the one they’d shared in the elevator. Crowley melted into the embrace and set his glass down.

“Does that mean we’re skipping drinks?” He smirked and returned the kiss, gesturing with his head toward the bedroom. “Of course, I’m assuming-“

“Safe to assume,” John drawled, holding Crowley against his body. He pressed another, more heated kiss to Crowley’s lips, gently pulling him in the direction of the bedroom. Crowley shut his eyes and allowed John to guide him through the suite, gasping softly as he felt a hand palming his hardening cock through the fabric of his pants.

He pushed John back into the bed, leaning over him to bite softly at his neck. His hands worked to push John’s jacket off his broad shoulders, taking a moment to feel his firm muscles under his tight shirt. Crowley’s fingers worked to unbutton John’s white button down, stopping only when John took over in frustration. He smirked to himself against the other man’s neck, taking his earlobe between his teeth. “A little eager, are we?”

John just chuckled and tossed his shirt to the side, leaning his head to one side to allow Crowley more room. “What can I say? Your accent does things to me.”

“I could say the same about you,” he purred, dipping down to suck a barely-there mark into John’s neck. It had almost escaped his attention that John was starting to undo his belt. Almost. He stopped John’s hands and kissed a trail down to the waistband of his pants. With a soft _thwip_ of fabric, Crowley slid the belt off and let it drop to the carpeted floor. Looking up into John’s brilliant blue eyes, he slowly kneeled and reverently unfastened John’s pants.

When the younger man’s length sprang free, Crowley caught his brain stuttering for just a moment. The kid’s cock was almost as big as his. Big enough, at least, that he wasn’t sure he trusted his ability to take the entire thing into his mouth. Looking back up at John, chuckling when he saw the smirk on his face, he slowly began to stroke him. “Are you going to suck it, or buy it a dress?” John asked, a chuckle lightening the faint tone of frustration in his voice.

Now, Crowley wasn’t normally the type to take orders from anyone, except maybe from his superiors at work. However, when he heard John basically command him to suck his dick, in that wonderful southern accent of his, he could very easily see the appeal. He unwittingly rolled his hips forward to try to catch some friction of the fabric of his pants, but it wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough. “What’s the magic word?” he asked, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

“Mark. Will you suck me off … _now?_” Playful as the tone was, the command was clear. If Crowley wasn’t hard before, he was now.

“Keep talking and I will.” He was thirsty to hear John’s southern drawl trying to form words through moans of pleasure. Every bit as thirsty as he was thirsty to bury his cock into John. With a wink, he stroked him a couple more times before finally sinking his mouth down onto the tip of his length. He brought his lips down as far as he could comfortably go, gently sucking him further down his throat. His hand worked the remaining section of length his mouth couldn’t quite fit.

He glanced up at John, half expectantly. His movements were slow. Almost tortuously so. John seemed nearly gone already. He propped himself up with an arm, his free hand threading through Crowley’s hair. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he groaned. “Stop bein’ as slow as molasses in winter.” When Crowley threatened to go slower, John whined and fisted his hand into Crowley’s hair. “_Please_.”

Crowley groaned around him and pressed his tongue against the underside of John’s thick cock, cheeks hollowing as he sucked a little harder on him. The words John was trying to say got drowned amidst a throaty moan. Finally, he hooked his hand around the nape of Crowley’s neck and pulled him up. “Gimme some sugar.” He pulled Crowley into a deep kiss that nearly took Crowley’s breath away. When he pulled back, he smirked and looked into Crowley’s brown eyes. “You could make a preacher cuss. You know that?”

“I’ve heard it said.” Crowley grinned and leaned back to finish discarding his clothes. He stopped for a moment and swore under his breath. “Take your pants off and stay in that position.” He stepped across the room to the still unopened suitcase. He opened a side pocket to withdraw a small bottle of lube and a condom. Returning with the items in hand, he smirked down at John and rolled the condom onto his cock, taking a small amount of lube to slick himself. “Scoot up,” he said, “against the pillows.”

John did as he was told without looking away from Crowley’s length. When his blue eyes did flick back up to meet Crowley’s, Crowley was already between his legs, pushing his legs up just slightly. John seemed speechless, but the smirk on his face was the only indication Crowley really needed to know he wasn’t completely overstepping his bounds. “Ride me hard and put me back wet,” he growled softly.

Hearing John’s voice – that wonderful drawl – say those words very nearly sent Crowley over the edge, untouched. He positioned himself and buried himself to the hilt in John’s heat with a loud groan. As he gave the both of them a chance to adjust, he looked into John’s eyes, almost drowning in those baby blues.

Crowley rolled his hips slowly at first, fingers tracing each line of muscle in John’s torso. He really was a thing of beauty. When John wrapped his legs around him, he rocked a little more eagerly into him, dipping his head down to sink his teeth into John’s neck. His hand slid between them and began stroking John’s length at roughly the same pace his hips moved at, free hand gripping at his hip to keep him from sliding too far up the bed.

“Jesus Christ,” John muttered, his voice somehow different. Crowley only barely noticed it, but it was almost like the drawl was gone. It returned as quickly as it had disappeared, John moaning the name “Mark,” over and over again and Crowley was left to just grin against the other man’s neck.

Crowley’s lips left a trail of warm kisses across John’s neck, down to his chest, then back up to his lips. His tongue slipped past John’s lips to invade his mouth, hips rocking more needily into him. He felt John’s legs slide down his body, and the next thing he knew, he was on his back. John was looking down at him with a sly grin, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to either side of his head.

Lost in the moment, Crowley let his eyes flutter shut and gave himself into the moment, feeling everything. John’s strong hands pinning him down, the tightness he felt around his cock, John’s muscular form covering him. It was all so much, and yet his climax caught him completely by surprise. He rocked his hips up into John to ride out his orgasm, shivering slightly as he felt John’s release spill onto him.

As they rode out their highs, John slid off to the side and laid next to Crowley, panting softly to catch his breath. Crowley grabbed a kleenex and wiped his chest clean, though he knew he’d have to do slightly more to get the cum out of his chest hair. Before he could stop himself, he wrapped his arms around John and pulled him a little closer, ghosting his fingers along the line of his shoulder blades.

John purred softly and nuzzled into Crowley’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “If I’d have known you were gonna be this much fun, I’d have dragged you up to my room sooner.”

Crowley chuckled and looked at John. He was sure he was going to say something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of what it might have been. Instead of fretting about his lost words, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to John’s lips. “You’re welcome to stay for the night, if you want,” he said at last. More than anything at that time, Crowley found he wanted the man to stay with him. Desperately so.

He nuzzled his cheek against John’s head, breathing his scent in deeply, soon drifting off to sleep.


	2. AKA That Dick

When Crowley awoke the next day, he reached across the bed to pull John a little closer, but he opened his eyes to see an empty place next to him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he felt a little let down. At the very least, he wanted to have the chance to ask John to dinner some time, but he knew how much of an impossibility that was. With his line of work, nothing was guaranteed. He’d be lucky if he made it to dinner alone by the end of the week.

Brushing the thought to the side, as he had several thousand times before, he sat up and stretched his back out. Crowley yawned and glanced around the room. There was hardly any sign of another person being in the room, which he might have thought would be peculiar, but he was too not-awake to give it much thought. He got up and dragged his feet into the bathroom, going through his daily routine of brushing his teeth, trimming his beard, frowning into the mirror as he looked at the evidence of his aging, and combing his hair.

When he was done, he pulled a clean suit from his duffel bag, rolled of course, to keep the wrinkles out, and began dressing himself. Today’s choice of tie was a simple black satin brocade, tied in a full Windsor knot. Pleased with his appearance (more or less) he repacked his bag and headed downstairs to check out. Part of him had hoped he might run into John in the elevator or in the lobby, but he didn’t. Really, he wasn’t surprised. Just disappointed.

Checked out of the hotel, he headed down to the car park and wandered to the space he had parked the Buick in. Instead of the Estate, he found a 2020 black Acura NSX. A smirk curled his lips upward as he opened the unlocked door, sliding easily into the driver’s seat. As per the usual dead drop instructions, he felt around under the seat and felt the keys. Though, of course, he didn’t need them. This Acura was outfitted with special technology. Keyless ignition that read his signet ring to confirm his identity.

Before too long, he was back on the road toward Nashville. The three hour trip was uneventful, though Crowley managed to make it interesting by playing obnoxious pop songs. It was a guilty pleasure. One he only ever indulged in when he was driving by himself. Though, he knew as long as he wore his glasses, Merlin would be able to see _and hear _him. Truth be told, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Though, for Merlin’s sake, he did take his glasses off and set them down on the seat beside him.

He was on his way to scope out the women’s clinic, he drove past a rally. Or, at least, what seemed to be a rally. People were gathered, signs were held aloft, and there was a single gentleman that was speaking very loudly and very angrily. He seemed to be getting the crowd riled up. It wasn’t until Crowley rolled down the window that he realized what he had stumbled into.

It was the Church of the Faithful, protesting a nearby wedding. Crowley’s blood boiled at the idea, but when he saw the newlyweds, he felt an indescribable rage. They were a gay couple. Two young women who didn’t look like they ever so much as looked at a person wrong in their entire lives.

Luckily, he was well trained enough to keep a cool head, even when he saw red. He calmly rolled up his window and carried on down the road, keeping his gaze forward and his chin up. He slipped his glasses on and tapped the frames. “Merlin? I need some intel on Dick Roman.”

There was a tapping on the other side of the call, and Merlin spoke up. “There’s not a lot known about Roman,” he said. “He’s a David Duke type. Hates anyone and everyone that doesn’t look like him. He usually keeps to himself, but since starting the Church of the Faithful, he’s been soaking up the limelight. He has no real family to speak of, and he projects a saintly image.”

“Ironic, considering he’s protesting in front of a house of God,” Crowley muttered.

“He and his followers don’t know the meaning of irony,” Merlin quipped. “I mean it. Their average IQ is, interestingly, around 80. On the low side of average.”

Crowley frowned and gripped the steering wheel tightly, slowly stopping the car at the next traffic light. “This country is insane,” he grumbled. “First they elect a cheeto into the most powerful office in the world, then they go about systematically destroying each other.” He turned the car to the east and started heading toward the women’s clinic. As desperately as he wanted to stop the protest, he did have a job to do. Though, he resolved that if the crowd was still gathered by the time he was done scoping out the clinic, he would quietly take care of them. “Alright, I’m getting close to the clinic. I’ll be scanning for architectural weaknesses. Let me know if you see anything.”

As he pulled into the car park, he glanced up at the building. It wasn’t anything special. Inconspicuous. You might not have guessed it was a clinic just by looking at it. It just looked like every other professional building that surrounded the area. He eyed the drab building and saw what looked like a service entrance immediately to the right of the alley next to the building. Walking closer to it, he saw the keypad on the lock and rolled his eyes. One of these days, people would learn that nothing is as secure as they think it is.

He pressed his watch to the keypad, and six beeps later, the door clicked open. He pushed it open and wandered through the service tunnels under the building, scanning the hallway for any loadbearing walls. Holding up his wrist to look at his watch, he tapped the frame of his glasses again. “May I have a 3-D layout of the building?

“Based on what I’ve seen so far,” Merlin said while Crowley’s watch compiled the information that was sent to it, “I’ve highlighted the most likely positions for a bombing.”

“This is, of course, taking into account that these yokels have no training and no clue what they’re doing, right?”

“Erm…” There was another moment’s silence until more points were highlighted in green. “Those should be the points of interest for the average joe.”

“They’re all on the first floor…” He thought a moment and sighed, running his hand through his hair. “You don’t think they’re insane enough to send in a suicide bomber, do you?” He sighed again and eyed one green dot in particular. “That’s what they’re going to do. They don’t want to take down the building. They want to kill as many people as they can. They don’t have a plan other than to make a point.”

He lowered his watch and the hologram disappeared as his hand fell back to his side. Merlin was quiet for a moment, but seemed to agree with him. “You really think so?”

“Maybe. I hope I’m wrong.” He turned to head back to the exit and ran his hand through his hair. “Do me a favor, hack into their system and schedule a fire drill for two days from now. Make sure everyone is out of the building. If my plan doesn’t work, I’d rather them bomb an empty building.”

“Already done, Galahad.” On the H.U.D. a calendar popped up to confirm that in two days, the office would be empty. Crowley took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. He hadn’t really been home in months, and sleeping in hotels was starting to wear him down. It didn’t help that he hadn’t had anything to eat yet today.

Slipping his glasses back on, he headed for the door with his hands in his pockets. “Merlin? Can you make a reservation for me at one of the restaurants in the city? I’ve heard The Etch is good.”

“And you can’t do this on your own why?”

“I’m about to be preoccupied.” His eyes darted around the frames of his glasses, planning a route through town, past the rally, to the restaurant. “How long does Dick Roman’s protest plan to run? Any way to find that out?”

“Well, the protest will move to the reception hall for the newlyweds, but they plan on holding a rally in Centennial Park this evening.” Merlin was silent for a moment, but Crowley could hear the beeping of the computer as it worked. “I can get you a reservation at The Etch for around 5PM. That gives you a couple of hours before and a couple of hours to eat before the rally tonight. Dare I ask what you’re planning?”

“Now, now, Merlin. You know that would be telling.”

“Precisely. If you tell me what you’re planning, I can arrange for it to go unnoticed.”

Crowley chuckled and shook his head. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think it’s going to go unnoticed, even if you tried.” He slid into the driver’s seat of the Acura and put it in gear, turning the car in the direction of the protest he had passed.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?”

“Goodbye, Merlin. I’ll talk to you in a few hours.” Crowley took the glasses off again and set them on the passenger seat. He parked a ways away from the protest and sauntered down the street toward the angry cries. Sure enough, there was a man there with a microphone that was getting everyone riled up.

“Societal collapse was always brought about following an advent of the deterioration of marriage and family,” the voice said, to many cheers and boos. “Being gay is a choice! A TERRIBLE choice! Keeping gays from marrying is not discrimination. It’s God’s idea!” There were more cheers, and Crowley could feel his stomach turn. He was tempted to just turn back now, but he had to muscle through the discomfort of hearing things that set his hackles up.

“The liberal SCUM in congress want to hold and protect these people, but really all they’re doing is taking away religious freedoms from people like you!” Dick could easily be seen now, and Crowley hated to admit it, but the man was charismatic. He had perfectly coiffed hair, well-groomed brows that sat above eyes that were perhaps a touch too close together, a straight nose, and what Crowley liked to refer to as an aristocratic chin. There was a reason aristocrats had developed weak chins, and the evidence was right in front of him. They were allowed to say whatever they wanted, and no one had the balls to punch them out.

Crowley lit a cigarette and looked up at the podium that Dick stood on. This guy was the worst.

It wasn’t just the man’s cocky attitude or the smug grin on his stupid face, but it was the way the people around him listened to him with bated breath and cheered every time he said something absolutely despicable.

Through the crowd, Crowley saw two young men. They couldn’t have been far out of high school. They still had spots, for Christ’s sake. The taller one with the light hair and the glasses held a video camera, and for a moment Crowley could believe that perhaps they were aspiring journalists. Unfortunately, the kid with him, the slightly shorter one, wore a confederate flag patch on his jacket. While this may have not totally incriminated him, it certainly didn’t look good. Not with everything that was going on around them. Besides, two blonde, blue eyed men in a crowd like this? It wasn’t likely they were just looking for a hot dog stand.

Crowley glanced around and walked over to the two lads, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “What are two upstanding gentlemen like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, hardly looking at them.

“We’re here to see the great Dick Roman speak,” the shorter one said, looking a little starstruck that he was within spitting distance of that guy. They barely even looked at Crowley, which might have been a good thing. Crowley almost strained a muscle rolling his eyes. “Hey Bart, be sure to get the size of the crowd.”

“Yes, I’m sure your 11 subscribers on youtube will be thrilled to see the tremendous size of Mr. Roman’s … crowd.” He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, rotating his cufflinks just slightly. “I apologize, I’m new in this part of the world. What might make Mr. Roman more important than … say, me?”

Bart laughed and looked at Crowley. “You’re joking, right?” Bart looked at his friend with a confused, amused look on his face. “Brady, tell ‘im.”

The shorter man, must have been Brady, crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Crowley. “You’re looking at the next president of the United States!”

“What, you?”

“No, not me! Dick Roman! Dude has the balls to say what everyone’s thinking!” The look on Brady’s face might have been mistaken for love. Crowley stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to go on, before Brady smirked. “That guy’s gonna change the world.”

Talk like that was … well, it was legitimately terrifying to anyone with a heart. Crowley liked to think he had pretty well tamped down any and all emotion, but today was proving him wrong left and right. He was angry. Furious, even, that a man like Dick Roman could appeal to generally intelligent looking people. Then again, he had stopped expecting this stupid country to make any sense.

“Fascinating,” Crowley said at last. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got reservations for dinner in an hour and it’ll take at least that long to get there from here with all the traffic.”

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Brady asked, stepping in front of him to block his way. When Crowley tried to step around him, Brady stopped him again. “Yo, what the fuck?”

“I’m a Catholic whore,” he said, simply, “who is currently enjoying congress, out of wedlock, with my black, Jewish boyfriend, who works in a military abortion clinic.” When Brady and Bart stared at him, he offered a crooked smile. “So, hail Satan, and have a lovely afternoon, gentlemen.” He shook both of their hands and left them speechless. He always felt just a little proud of himself when he could catch someone so off guard that you could knock them over with a feather.

No one else in the crowd seemed to notice or care that he was leaving, and he preferred it that way. He generally made a point not to engage anyone, in case they had reason to recognize him. However, as he rotated his cufflinks again, he slipped his glasses on and spoke softly. “Did you get all that?”

“I did,” Merlin said. “It sounds like Mr. Roman has all the makings of a cult brewing there in Tennessee. Those two boys you spoke to, Bart and Brady, they run a youtube channel that reads like InfoWars and Breitbart News. It’s mad.”

“It is,” Crowley agreed. “One of the reasons I think I may have to kill Dick Roman today.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dead men tell no tales. He can’t spread hate if he’s dead.”

“Galahad, we’ve talked about this.” Merlin sighed that kind of sigh that you could _feel_. “You can’t just fly off the handle and assassinate someone just because you don’t like their politics.”

“Name one time I ever did that-“

“That gentleman from South Australia, the woman in Prague, the teenager in Denmark-“

“I said name ONE time, Merlin. Nobody likes a smartass.” He finally reached the Acura and slipped into the driver’s seat, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Listen, just … trust me on this. I can accomplish my mission _and_ take out a raging jackass at the same time.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll start looking into doctoring the restaurant’s footage to give you an alibi.”

“Merlin, you’re aces.” Crowley smirked and tapped the frames of his glasses once to highlight the most direct route to the restaurant.

The drive there was less eventful than the drive to the clinic. He didn’t pass any protests or rallies on the way, which was just fine by him. As far as he was concerned, quiet meant he didn’t have to work.

It took the approximated hour to get to the restaurant. Traffic in major cities was always a pain, but especially in Nashville, it seemed. The outside of the Etch was non-descript enough, with a simple wooden sign over the entrance that simply read, “Etch.” It had a sort of modern flair, though, that gave Crowley a promising feeling that this may just be a decent dinner.

He stopped at the valet service and handed his keys off to the parking attendant with a warning look. He was sure the man had gotten countless warning looks that day, but he might not have gotten a look from someone who intended on making good on the wordless threat.

The inside of the restaurant might have been considered drab by those with less tasteful sensibilities. With the muted colors of brown, grey, and black, it felt like any color might have been overwhelming to the senses. Crowley’s eye was drawn toward the bar, which wouldn’t have surprised anyone that knew him well enough. Though, the clear hanging lights that decorated the bar definitely added a bit of class to the place.

The maître d came by and guided Crowley over to a table near the window, to which he politely asked for a table closer to the back. It was a nervous habit, but one well earned. Really, it came from a desire to be able to see the whole room, rather than the fear of being seen.

Seated at one of the back tables, Crowley reclined in his chair and watched the waiters and busboys clear another nearby table. His eyes fell on one busboy in particular. Tall, athletic, with bright green eyes. He caught Crowley looking at him, but instead of looking away like some might have, Crowley smirked and winked at him.

The waiter came over and blocked Crowley’s view of the young man. Crowley might have been upset, had this not meant he could order his food. With a quick glance at the menu, he ordered the Southern Charcuterie & Cheese for an appetizer and the lamb loin as an entrée. He asked for a little time to decide on dessert, but he basically knew what he wanted. His eyes landed on the young man that had, conveniently, not finished clearing away the table he was working on.

Crowley waved him over and gestured for him to take a seat. The lad looked around, apparently more nervous about getting in trouble than he was about sitting with a stranger. But, the smile on Crowley’s face seemed to put him enough at ease. “What’s your name?” he asked with a charming smile on his face.”

“Dean,” the kid answered, scooting his chair a little more under him. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe he just didn’t want to get caught, but Dean seemed to be fidgety. Crowley tried to ease his nerves with a smile, but they were interrupted when the maître d came storming over.

“Winchester, get up. You’re-“

“Keeping me company,” Crowley chimed in with a smile. “I asked this charming gentleman to join me for dinner.” The confused look on the maître d’s face was priceless. Crowley wanted to take a picture, but figured that might not be quite in tone with the atmosphere. “Why don’t you bring him some dinner? Whatever he wants.” He winked at Dean again, smiling his famously crooked smile.

Dean, who was still half standing up, stared at Crowley. Crowley knew why he was receiving that look. Rich assholes tended not to squander their wealth on dinner companions, especially not on busboys. Crowley, however, wasn’t most men, and he wanted some company. Dean was attractive in all the right ways, so naturally he would want to spend the night looking at him.

“So, what do you do to be able to afford eating here?” Dean asked curiously. Small talk. As boring as it was, it did fill the silence.

“I’m a consultant,” he said coolly, using a fork to pick a piece of cheese off the platter the waiter had set in front of him and placing it between his teeth. “The great thing about that is that I can charge people whatever I want because no-one’s really sure what a consultant does.” He chuckled and summoned a waiter. “What do you have in the way of red wines?” He looked back at Dean and smiled. “What would you like?”

Dean stared for a moment, but cleared his throat and looked at the waiter. “A, uhm … A Stella would be fine.”

Crowley smirked and looked back at the waiter. “A Stella Artois for him, and I’ll have a glass of the Opus One Cabernet Blend.” He watched Dean’s eyes go wide and smirked softly, only barely registering that the waiter was talking to him. “I’m sorry?”

“I said that wine only comes by the bottle.”

Crowley blinked and shrugged. “Then bring the bottle.” He gave a look, like he didn’t understand what the trouble was, and the waiter just bowed slightly and nodded, promising to return with the drinks.

Dean fiddled with his napkin awkwardly and looked down at the table, daring a glance up to meet Crowley’s eye once every few seconds or so. “You know, I’ve never had wine that didn’t come out of a box,” he said at last.

Crowley, admittedly, found that adorable. He placed his napkin in his lap and rested a wrist on the table. “Well, when the drinks come around, you’re welcome to sample some of mine.” He smiled and took another bite of cheese.

“I gotta ask,” Dean said at last, leaning his elbows on the table, “why invite me to sit down with you? You gotta know I ain’t supposed to be doing this on the clock.”

“Well, what time do you get off?” Crowley smirked his most charming smirk and checked his watch.

“I dunno. Probably about an hour?”

“And how would you like to get off … when you get off?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he looked Crowley up and down, and seemed to think about it. Finally, he smirked and leaned across the table. “Make sure I don’t get fired for this, and you can do whatever the hell you want to me.”

Crowley chuckled and reached across the table to rest his fingers on the back of Dean’s hand. “Don’t write checks you can’t cash, darling,” he purred. He leaned back in his seat when their dinners and drinks arrived and held up his wine glass. “To kind strangers?”

“To good times, too.” They each took a sip of their respective drinks, Crowley from his glass, and Dean from his bottle. Just before they were ready to dig into their meals, Dean glanced at Crowley’s wine glass and the bottle that sat next to it. “Hey, you don’t mind if I…?”

“Hm?” Crowley looked up at Dean and smiled. “Of course not. Help yourself!” He watched as Dean picked up the wine glass and stared at it. He felt a strange urge to be helpful and set down his fork. “Let’s try something. A little experiment, if you like.” He smiled softly at the busboy and nodded at Dean. “Go ahead and take a sip. Tell me what you think.”

Dean took a sip and swallowed it, shrugging. “I dunno. It just kinda tastes like wine.”

Crowley chuckled and nodded. “Now, hold the glass to your nose and breathe in the bouquet.” Dean looked confused, but did as he was told, with a loud sniff. Crowley laughed and shook his head. “No, don’t snort it. Smell it. Then take a small sip and let it sit on your tongue for a few seconds. Close your eyes, if you must.”

Dean held the glass under his nose for a moment and gently sniffed at it, letting his eyes shut. He took a sip of the wine and held it in his mouth for a few seconds, curiously sniffing the glass again before finally swallowing his mouthful of wine. “Huh.”

“Can you taste the difference?” Crowley asked with a smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.” Dean seemed more surprised than Crowley was, but smiled all the same. “I think I might like wine now.”

Crowley smirked and finished his dish. It wasn’t much longer before the waiter came around to ask for their dessert order. Crowley ordered the Peach-Raspberry Pavlova, while Dean stuck to the ice cream sundae. When their desserts came, they took their time. After all, there was still time to spare. Dean, of course, excited to get his rocks off, and Crowley thinking about the mission ahead of him.

A spare thought passed through Crowley’s mind, of the man he’d spent the previous night with. John. It wasn’t the first time today he’d thought about that man, but it was certainly awkward to be stuck on someone else while fixing to fornicate with an extremely attractive man. He’d often heard it said that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. Well, in this case, he’d be getting over someone by getting over someone else, but it was all the same principle. Either way, he was planning on having Dean as a second dessert.

Desserts practically inhaled, the maître d came back over and hissed at Dean to get back to work for the remaining 15 minutes of his shift, but Crowley had other plans. He winked at Dean and raised his voice. He began yelling things at the poor man. Things that made Dean blush ever so slightly. Things like Dean was a remarkable dinner companion and he deserves a raise for bussing tables for the idiots that wait on them. He demanded that Dean be paid for his time accompanying him, then demanded that he be given the rest of the day off. The maître d acquiesced to all of Crowley’s demands, hoping to avoid a further scene, and dismissed Dean.

Dean was simply awed by Crowley, and Crowley smirked, leaning in to whisper into his ear. “Where would you like to go, darling?”

Dean must have realized his mouth was hanging open, because he closed it and swallowed thickly. He glanced around and nodded his head toward the back. “Depends on if you want more privacy or whatever you’re looking for.”

“I’m not interested in privacy,” he rasped, hooking his arm around Dean’s waist and leading him back to the bathrooms. It was a modern enough place, he was sure the bathrooms wouldn’t be as horribly grotesque as some bathrooms he’d been in before. Once they entered the empty bathroom, Crowley pulled Dean down into a passionate kiss, pressing his tongue forward to demand entrance into Dean’s mouth.

Dean quickly relented, hands tangling into Crowley’s hair. He pushed the older man back until his back hit the closest stall door. Without breaking the kiss, they slid to the side so Dean could open the door. As he did, Crowley yanked Dean into the stall and shut the door, hand fumbling with the lock for a moment before finally giving up and pressing Dean against the door. He undid the taller man’s uniform bow tie and unbuttoned the top two or three buttons of his shirt. As he left a trail of warm, wet kisses down Dean’s jaw and throat, he started to undo his own pants.

Dean took the initiative and stepped so they had changed places, slowly sinking to his knees. As he helped Crowley unfasten his pants, he pressed his nose against the bulge of the other man’s pants, kissing his length through the fabric. He wasn’t prepared, though, for Crowley’s length to spring free of his silk boxers. Crowley caught Dean staring at it, smirking as Dean looked up at him. “I’m gonna need a bigger mouth,” he quipped.

Crowley watched the tip of his dick disappear into Dean’s mouth, groaning softly. His fingers threaded into Dean’s surprisingly soft, silky hair. When he felt his cock hit the back of Dean’s throat, he also felt a hand close around the rest of his still dry length. Dean worked Crowley with a stunning amount of expertise. Crowley slowly rocked his hips into Dean’s mouth, gently fucking into the wet heat.

Despite the slow pace of Dean’s motions, Crowley felt warmth pool at his pelvis rather quickly. He pulled Dean away and brought him up to kiss him. “Tell me what you want,” he growled.

“I want you to fuck me,” Dean groaned, pressing his hips against Crowley’s. The shorter man could feel Dean’s cock, hard against his hip.

Crowley reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Inside the billfold were a couple of condoms. He ripped one open with his teeth and pulled the prophylactic out of its wrapping, handing it to Dean. “I want you to put this on me with your mouth.” When Dean started to lower himself again, Crowley stopped him for one more order. “Pants down while you do it.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean breathed, undoing his own pants and lowering himself down to his knees once more. He placed the condom in his mouth and sank it down onto Crowley’s hard cock again. Rolling the condom down onto the rest of his shaft, Dean stood and stroked himself slowly, looking at Crowley with hungry eyes.

Crowley turned Dean to face away from him and kicked at the inside of his foot to encourage him to part his legs more. His voice was little more than a growl, and he had devolved into saying sweet nothings into Dean’s ear as he pressed the head of his cock against Dean’s tight entrance. He pushed forward, feeling a little pressure, before the ring of muscle gave way. Dean let out a groan as Crowley buried himself to the hilt.

Soon enough, Crowley was rocking heatedly into the busboy. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Even balls deep in someone that looked way out of his league, Crowley was only able to think about John. Amidst the grunts and groans of his passion, he mouthed John’s name, eyes shutting and leaning forward to sink his teeth into Dean’s back. Dean was trying to stay quiet to avoid detection, but the metal stall rattled around them.

Dean eventually gave up trying to stay quiet, but he did try to keep his voice down. This was a classy restaurant, after all, and he didn’t want to lose his job. Crowley, however, didn’t care nearly as much. He groaned into Dean’s back, fingers gripping tightly at the taller man’s hips, his own hips bucking roughly into Dean.

He tried to get his mind off of John, but it proved … difficult. As much as he wanted to focus on Dean, all he could think of was the man who got away. A particularly loud moan jolted him back to reality, and he clasped his fingers around Dean’s hard shaft. Stroking him in time with his hips, he felt Dean unravel in his arms. The larger man was positively melting under the attentions being paid to him, and Crowley could hear Dean’s nails dragging down the metal wall.

Dean’s release hit him like a ton of bricks, his hips bucking into Crowley’s hand as he tried to ride out his orgasm as it spilled onto the wall and the floor. He tightened around Crowley, bringing him over the edge right along with him. Crowley’s hips stuttered as he rode out his own high, breathing growing ragged as exhaustion washed over him.

They parted from each other and started to put each other back together. Dean pulled at his white uniform shirt on his sweaty torso to air himself out, looking at Crowley as the shorter man fastened his pants. “You’ll call me, right?”

“Hm?” Crowley looked up at him, and it sank in what he was being asked. “Oh. Yeah, of course, Dan.”

“It’s …. It’s Dean.” Perhaps it was an honest mistake … but probably not.

“And it always will be.” Crowley looked at his watch and quirked a brow. Well, he had taken longer than he’d thought he would. Between dinner and this, he only had about 20 minutes to get back downtown for the rally. Luckily, rush hour was over, so it might not be the mayhem it was driving to Etch. “Cripes, I’m late,” he said at last. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, but I really must be going.” He set his hand on the lock of the stall door before he stopped and looked up at Dean. “If you’re interested, I’ll be in the Executive Suite at the Hermitage Hotel tonight. You’re more than welcome to join me for a drink.”

Dean smiled and wrapped his arms around Crowley. “I don’t even know your name.” It dawned on Crowley then, and only then, that he had never given Dean _any_ name, let alone his own.

“Jim,” he said. “Jim Sterling.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s lips and smirked up at him. “See you around 10, then?”

“Sure.” Dean smirked back and tussled Crowley’s hair, kissing him gently. “See you ‘round 10.”

“See you then, Dave.” Crowley winked teasingly as he opened the stall door and adjusted his tie. Without another word, he made his way through the restaurant and to the valet service to pick up his car. After tipping the attendant handsomely, he started on his way to Centennial Park.

It wasn’t a long drive back downtown, but it did take quite a while to find a place to park his car. He parked several blocks away from the ruckus of the rally and popped the trunk open. After fiddling about in the trunk for a moment, he withdrew a simple leather briefcase and shut the trunk again. Whistling a simple tune, he made his way through the back door of a tall building, up the stairs, and to the roof.

As he continued whistling, he opened the briefcase and began pulling out components of a sniper rifle. He could hear the rally from across the street in the park, and he could hear Dick Roman’s voice above all others. It was sickening, the words he could make out. Words of homophobia, xenophobia, and pure hate spewed from Dick’s mouth as easily as breath.

Crowley set up the rifle to rest against the edge of the building, taking aim and waiting for the appropriate time. As he was listening to Dick’s speech, though, Crowley could have sworn he saw a familiar face in the crowd, but that didn’t make sense. It likely wasn’t him anyway. The man he saw was wearing sunglasses, which helped Crowley believe that he didn’t know the man.

Dick’s words all bled together in a single blur of hate. Crowley rolled his eyes, at least until he heard the word ring out in just the perfect tone of irony. “-and may God strike me dead if I’m lying.” Crowley rolled his eyes again, this time hard enough to almost strain something, and pulled the trigger.

Through the scope, he watched Dick’s head snap back in a puff of pink mist. Screams pierced through the air as the crowd began to scatter. Crowley smirked to himself. “And God said, ‘Let there be Crowley,’ and so it was. And it was good.” He packed up his sniper rifle and casually headed back down the stairs. As he walked out onto the street and into the crowd, he began whistling that same lazy tune.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw that familiar face again, but he pushed the thought from his mind.

After all, why would John be anywhere near here?


	3. AKA The Sword

When Michael woke up in Mark’s room that morning in Memphis, Mark was still asleep. He smiled and kissed his forehead gently, taking a moment to really look at the man he’d slept with. Mark wasn’t a classically handsome man, that much was sure. But there was still an attractiveness about him. His nose was perhaps a touch too small for his face, and maybe a smidge too straight, and now in the morning light he could see that there were obvious signs of aging, and the man was definitely quite a bit softer than Michael was, but the charisma and confidence with which he had carried himself the night before made him … well, Michael would venture to say sexy. He ran his hand trough Mark’s short, surprisingly soft brown hair before getting up to dress himself.

The thought had occurred to him that he would have liked to remain in Mark’s arms until he woke up, but he really felt as though he needed a shower and it didn’t feel polite to use someone else’s shower without their permission. So, instead of waiting, he quietly passed through the door and closed it slowly so the latch wouldn’t wake Mark.

Once h was in the safety of the elevator, he popped an aspirin and swallowed it dry. The beginnings of a hangover were starting to plague him, and he wanted to nip it in the bud so he wouldn’t be anything less than pleasant with Mark when he got back. It was a short trip in the elevator to his floor, and an even shorter walk to his room. As he looked at the time, he mused to himself that perhaps it might be fun to watch the ducks march with Mark, but there were other matters to attend to first. Like, for instance, that shower he needed. And also breakfast.

He opened the door to his room and turned the faucet on in the shower to let the water heat up. Stripping and packing his clothes neatly into his back, he took a moment to clear away the mess of the previous day. He had been in town to destabilize one of the local mafia families, and he was pleased that he had done so without getting a single drop of blood on his gray suit. It had been nice to celebrate a job well done with someone who seemed to know how to have a good time. He packed the few cleaned knives away into his bag and tucked the hilt of his retractable whip into the side pocket.

Deciding the water had to be warm enough by now, he quickly finished packing and reentered the bathroom, stepping into the stream of warm water, breathing in the vapors. He closed his eyes and he found that all he could think about was Mark. Michael didn’t often bottom for guys, but he had kind of enjoyed it with Mark. He enjoyed his entire time with Mark, if he was honest. He couldn’t get the image of Mark’s darkened brown eyes out f his head, nor the image of his slightly parted lips, that crooked smile, the way his eyes went wide and fluttered shut when…

Michael reached over and turned the faucet down so the shower head would spray cold water at him. This was not the time, nor the place. Besides, if neither of them had anywhere they needed to be, he was absolutely willing to go for round two.

Now clean, he stepped out of the cold water and dried himself off, pulling the suit he’d hung up the previous night off its hanger. It was a nice enough tan suit with thin lapels, and very well-tailored. Well-tailored enough to show off Michael’s physique. He dressed himself and slipped his cowboy boots on, taking a moment to tug at the pull straps and slide his slacks down to cover the shaft of the boot. He picked up a towel from the bathroom and propped his foot up on the dresser to lightly buff out a scuff on the toe box of his boot.

With a glance around the room, he decided to go ahead and take his things to the car on his way to get breakfast. He checked his watch and wondered if Mark was still asleep, but decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. He casually grabbed his packed bags and hoisted one onto his shoulder, heading down to the lobby.

When the elevator doors opened, he peered out into the lobby, eyes falling on the gorgeous fountain where the ducks swam peacefully. There were a couple of children trying to play with the birds, and Michael just smiled and walked past them.

As he got out to the car, he heard a familiar beep that told him he was getting a call. Slipping his sunglasses on, he sighed and answered. “Sword here, what’s the sitch’?”

“Sword, I trust you remember you’ve been ordered not to quote Kim Possible anymore,” Shield said. “You’ve got a job. Body guarding. Before you hear who you’re guarding, I want to say, _I know_. It’s not ideal, but his money’s good.”

“Who is it?”

There was an awfully long silence on the other end, and then, “…. Dick Roman.”

“Son of a bitch, Shield.” Michael sighed and ran his hand through his still damp hair. “You know that guy is practically a cult leader, right? And he hates guys like me.”

“Don’t I know it.” Shield sounded almost defensive. “Like I said, though. His money’s good. It’s just for a day. He’s doing a protest and a rally in Nashville today. You don’t have to make it there for the protest, but get your team together in time for the rally. I’ll call Messenger for you to tell him to get himself to Nashville.”

Michael was silent for a moment before, “Alright. I’ll do it, but I’m gonna complain the whole time.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

Michael took the sunglasses off and rubbed at his eyes in frustration. Well, this complicated his morning. He wouldn’t get to have breakfast with Mark after all, which felt like a kick in the pants. Well, he should be used to it by now, with his life being as hectic as it was. He packed his bags away into the trunk of his car and headed back into the hotel. Stopping at the reception desk, he rang the bell. “Excuse me, can you send breakfast up to the gentleman in the Presidential Suite? Charge it to me. I’ll be happy to-“

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said. “The gentleman has already checked out.”

He wasn’t sure why, but Michael’s heart dropped into his stomach. Well, Mark must have been busy. At least, that’s what Michael chose to believe. He didn’t want to believe that Mark just didn’t want to stick around to see if he’d come back.

Michael tapped the reception desk lightly with a knuckle before smiling, thanking the clerk for his time, and heading back out to his car. The three hour drive was mostly clear of traffic, with the odd semi cluttering up the highway.

As he usually did before a job, Michael tapped his phone awake and pressed a button on the side to activate voice controls. “Play Shearwater.” The phone buffered a moment as the Bluetooth connected to his car. He kept his eyes on the road, for the most part, only taking a second to glance at the touchscreen panel in the console. When the album art for _Fellow Travelers_ came up, he turned up the volume as “Natural One” began playing.

He couldn’t help but bob his head to the beat of the bass guitar, humming along to the tune of the song. Eventually, he sang along with the chorus, but did so quietly. Road trip karaoke was rarely his bag, and his mind was otherwise occupied. It wasn’t clear why his thoughts kept straying back to Mark. He was quite taken with the gentleman, and he found himself aching for another kiss. It just didn’t seem fair that he hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. He would probably never see Mark again.

Wow, did that thought feel like a slap in the face.

He was jolted from his thoughts, thankfully, when the music stopped. His phone was ringing. His thumb sought out the button on the steering wheel to answer the phone as he sighed. “Hello?”

“Mikey! I have a quick question.” It was Michael’s younger brother, Balthazar. Balthazar was always getting into trouble. So much so that Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if he ended up in jail. “Can I use the power tools?”

“No. No, you may not use the power tools.” Ever since their father went out for cigarettes and never came back, Michael had been the default parent. He didn’t mind it, honestly, but it was hard doing his job well (and he did it _very_ well) and taking care of a 13 year old brother. “And yes, the lawn mower is a power tool.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Isn’t Anna there to take care of things? You didn’t scare off another babysitter, did you?”

“Mike, I’m 13. I don’t think I need a babysitter,” Balthazar said indignantly. “Besides, Anna’s only 15. That’s like … I dunno … asking a horse to watch over a dog. Like, all she can do is dial the phone a little bit better than I can. I mean, honestly, Anna’s kinda useless, so-“

“Balthazar. Are you coming to a point? I’m driving.” Michael loved his brother, but Balthazar loved to hear his own voice. He didn’t always know when to stop talking.

At least, until Michael got irritated with him. That usually shut him up. “Oh, uhm … I think I forgot what I was going to do.”

“Call me back if you remember, but I might not pick up. I’ve got a job to do, after all.” They exchanged goodbyes, and Michael hung up. He worried about that boy sometimes. Taking care of his brother was a full time job, and while he didn’t always like to rely on outside help, he knew Anna was reliable enough to keep Balthazar alive while he was on the road.

He turned the music back on and coasted into Nashville right on time to meet with his partner, Messenger. They met at the bar at the Omni Hotel and continued up to the King Executive Suite their organization had paid for. It wasn’t long before the rest of the crew arrived, a couple of them carrying McDonald’s bags. Michael frowned and shook his head at them. “You know, we can order room service here. You didn’t have to get that … stuff.”

“I mean … we got some for you, too.”

“No thank you.” Michael wasn’t looking at them anymore. Instead, he was peeling his jacket off to drape it over the back of the sofa. “I do not sully my body with … gross matter.” The disheartened agent frowned and set the bag down on the nearby table. “So, no doubt Shield told you about our client?” When no one except Messenger seemed to react, Michael went on. “Dick Roman is the founder and leader of the Church of the Faithful. He’s an alt-right nutjob that thinks he can run for senate. Scary part is, people are listening to him.”

Messenger tried to peer over Michael’s shoulder, but he was a few inches too short to be able to do too much. Michael chuckled and laid out the map of the city. “His rally starts at 7pm, and it’s happening in Centennial Park. If you ask me, the proximity to the women’s clinic isn’t a coincidence. I’m sure he’ll be spouting all kinds of bullshit, so we won’t be hurtin’ for entertainment, but … let’s be real. No heroic measures to save him, if something happens. All we’ve been told is to keep the crowd back, and I’m not gonna risk any of you to save a hateful piece of shit.”

Messenger looked a little closer at the map and practically lit up. “Hey! I don’t think I realized this is happening near the Parthenon! We should check it out!” He looked around at the rest of his team, still grinning despite the exasperated looks. “C’mon, Mikey, how often is it that you get to see a full replica of a Greek temple?”

“_Gabe_, you’ve been to the real one,” he pointed out. When Messenger kept giving him those puppy dog eyes, Michael rolled his eyes and relented. “Fine. We’re in the neighborhood. But you’re on cleanup duty.” Messenger pumped his fist excitedly and Michael looked back at the rest of the team. The other five men didn’t seem to be particularly excited about the job, but then they were also wasted as a body guard. They were trained to be so much better than this, which was maybe why Michael told them ‘no heroic measures.’ “Alright. Y’all know your duties. Get going. We’ll meet up at the pavilion in Centennial Park at 6:45. That should give Messenger enough time to tour the fuckin’ Parthenon.” He smirked at Messenger and winked, clearly not as worried about it as he was pretending to be. In fact, Messenger probably knew he’d want to join him.

By the time they were done with their meeting, the five team members had gone off to get their own lunch, but Michael and Gabriel were on their way to Centennial Park. It was a beautiful day, though maybe a bit humid. Then again, when wasn’t it humid in Tennessee?

They passed a hot dog stand and, for lack of other quick options, Michael paid for two so they could have something to munch on while they walked through the park. There was already a crowd gathered for the rally later, and Michael assumed they had been at the protest he’d heard about earlier. He tried not to think about what they might have been protesting, or he might have decided then and there to simply walk away and let Dick Roman fend for himself. Still, he had his orders, and he wasn’t going to jeopardize his job for politics.

He and Messenger passed through the columns of the Parthenon and Michael was immediately struck by the color that decorated the walls. When he thought of Greek architecture, he thought of alabaster stone. He was expecting Kansas and he had stepped into Oz. The large statue of Athena in the center of the structure was admittedly spectacular. Gilded in gold, Athena stood high over the crowd, shield propped up against her in her left hand, an angel resting in her right. The angel was, of course, the goddess Nike, Goddess of Victory. How appropriate. They might need Nike’s blessing sooner than they thought.

Messenger had run off to gaze up at Athena. He had always had some fascination with the pagan gods, and Michael had never quite figured out why. Still, he was happy that Gabriel had found something to be passionate about.

The sun had started to get low in the sky, and Michael finally looked at his watch. 6:30. With a sigh, he rounded up Messenger and started toward the pavilion. From there, he could see his other teammates taking position. He looked at Messenger and nodded. The two of them slipped their sunglasses on and tapped the frames. As they walked away, Messenger decided to test the connection. “Your ass looks good in that suit, Sword.”

Michael chuckled and glanced back at him. “Don’t let this crowd catch you saying that. I’d hate to see some dumb pricks get hurt.” He knew Messenger would catch his meaning, that he’d start some shit and a few guys would attack, but that wouldn’t last for long. Michael and Messenger ended up on opposite sides of the pavilion, flanking the podium as Dick Roman took the makeshift stage.

For the most part, Michael tuned out the speech. He caught snippets of it, which included such gems as “Congress should oppose any effort to put gay and lesbian relationships on an equal legal status with heterosexual marriage,” and, “I look forward to the day Roe v. Wade is sent to the ash heap of history,” and, Michael’s personal favorite, “It doesn’t really matter, as long as you’ve got a young, beautiful piece of ass.”

“Man, this guy is the worst,” Messenger said. Michael dared a glance over at him and stifled a chuckle, but Gabriel went on. “These dumbasses actually want to vote for this guy?”

“What do you expect these days? Look who we’ve got in the White House. The rest of the world will never forgive us.” Michael clasped his hands behind his back and looked out at the crowd.

“The world is catching up to us. I don’t know what’s scarier. That we started the trend or that it’s a fucking trend.” Messenger had a point, and Michael hated to admit it. “Fucking seriously. The president of Brazil said ‘they’ were burning the Amazon Rainforest on purpose to make him look bad.”

Michael shuddered before he could help it and his eyes fell on two tall, Aryan types. They were causing trouble, because of course they were. While Michael didn’t really feel like leaving his post to make them stop, he caught a glimpse of the man they were harassing. He looked familiar.

He shook his head to clear the thought from his mind. Nah. No way. That would be too much of a coincidence, and he really tried not to believe in coincidence.

Dick Roman went on for a while, spouting nonsense about gay conversion therapy, and Messenger must have known that it was making Michael uncomfortable, because he chuckled and muttered, “This guy needs a senate seat like he needs a hole in his head.”

Michael caught sight of a glint of light coming off the top of one of the nearby buildings. A sniper. If it was anyone else, Michael would have probably taken a bullet for his client. But, when his client wouldn’t piss on his gums if his teeth were on fire, he just pretended he didn’t see it.

“Yeah. Like a hole in his head.”

The shot rang out and echoed through the park. Through the corner of his eye, he could see Dick’s head snap backward in a cloud of pink mist before he crumpled to the ground. While the rest of the team worked to funnel the screaming crowd out of the park, Michael pushed through the rush of people to head toward the building he saw the reflection on. He did see someone in a black suit exit the building, but it was hard to tell who it might have been, or if they had anything to do with the assassination. The flood of people made it hard to catch up with the man, and he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere doing it this way. No, his best bet was to check the surveillance footage of the area.

The police were soon surrounding the park, and there was no more evidence that the man in the black suit had ever been there. Whoever he was, he was good. But Michael was better. Handing authority over to the police, Michael and his team made their way to the Tennessee Legend Distillery and entered one of the back rooms. After picking up a bottle of bourbon, the wall opened and the team entered the Nashville HOST office.

It was one of their smallest offices, but it was well equipped. At least they could pull up surveillance footage of the park. Michael placed himself at one of the screens and typed in a few commands to pull the camera feed from the park. After rewinding it, sure enough, he saw the man in the black suit. After typing in a few more commands, he zoomed in on the assassin’s face.

But … that couldn’t be right.

Mark?

Michael stared at the screen for a moment. The man was wearing glasses of some kind, but there was no mistaking that smirk on his face. And he was carrying a briefcase. Even if he was going home from work, which seemed to be the illusion he was trying to put on, why would he have been in Memphis that morning? It didn’t make a lick of sense.

Shield was behind Michael, looking over his shoulder at the screen. “You let an assassin get away?” he asked.

Michael looked up at Shield, raising an eyebrow. “We were just supposed to keep the crowd back, remember?” He looked back at the screens and clicked around until he found the assassin’s trail. It wasn’t too hard to pin him down. He was driving an Acura concept car, which stuck out like a sore thumb. “You didn’t brief us that there might be an assassination attempt, so we didn’t prepare for it.”

Shield sighed deeply, but knew Michael was right. “Who do you think hired this guy?”

“I don’t know, but whoever they are, they pay well.” Michael didn’t take it personally that he had slept with an assassin, but he did take issue with the fact that he hadn’t picked up on it.

The cameras followed Mark all the way back to his hotel and Michael smirked. “Gotcha.” He stood and looked at Shield. “I’d like to request permission to tail the assassin,” he said. “I’ve got a fix on his position, and I’d like to set up some surveillance.”

Shield smirked and nodded. “Permission granted, Sword.” He started to walk back to his office, but stopped and looked at Michael. “Find out who he works for and deal with him. Take him out, if you have to.”

Michael smirked back, the irony not being totally lost on him.

He spent the night watching security cameras across the street from the Hermitage Hotel and, when it seemed like Mark wasn’t going to be going anywhere that night, he transferred the camera feeds to a tablet and headed back to his hotel room.

The next morning, after Mark had left, Michael would start tailing him. He’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit excited that Memphis wasn’t the last place he’d be able to see Mark.

He just wished it was under better circumstances.


	4. AKA Gemini

A couple of days had passed since the assassination, and the bombing was supposed to happen today. Crowley, of course, had stayed in town long enough to make sure it wouldn’t happen. That was, after all, his main objective from the start. Killing Dick was just a nice perk of the job.

He had been surveilling the women’s clinic from across the street in his car, and so far there wasn’t anything suspicious. He looked impatiently at his watch and breathed a frustrated sigh. Crowley would have thought that driving a concept car like he was would draw some attention. It would have at least been entertaining. But no. Nashville was simply too polite.

Just as he was about to give up on the stakeout, he saw those two idiots from the protest look around shiftily. Crowley sighed heavily again and waited for the morons to look away from him before stepping out of his car. When he crossed the street, he buttoned the top button of his blazer and stuffed his hand in his pocket, using is free hand to adjust his glasses. He whistled the lazy tune that happened to be going through his head and followed the lads into the building.

“You two don’t seem like you need any assistance here,” he said, just loud enough for Bart and Brady to hear him. They turned and the seconds ticked by that they just blankly stared at him. They seemed to be horribly confused. Crowley smirked and walked closer to them. “I can’t imagine you’re here to pick up some tampons, so why don’t you do everyone in this room a favor and tell me what you’re really doing here?”

Bart grit his teeth so tightly his face formed a grimace. He withdrew a handgun and aimed it at Crowley, looking surprised when Crowley didn’t seem to react. Of course, everyone in the lobby started screaming and rushing for the door, but Crowley stood his ground. “We’re gonna finish what Roman started.”

“Well, I suppose, when in Rome, do as Roman would do,” Crowley uttered, words dripping in sarcasm. “You know, for a pair of homophobes, you sure are obsessed with Dick.”

Bart cocked the gun in his hand and glared at Crowley. “Why don’t you just turn around and walk away, fag?”

Crowley smirked and shook his head. “Manners maketh man.” He took a few daring steps toward the two idiots and twirled his umbrella around his fingers. “Do you know what that means?” The two men looked at each other, confused. Crowley looked down to hide his smirk, then looked up with a raised eyebrow. “No? Well, then. Let me teach you a lesson.”

He saw Bart’s finger go for the trigger and he opened his umbrella, holding it in front of him. From his side of the umbrella, he could see Thing 1 and Thing 2 through the flexible screen that lined it. Bart took a shot at him and Brady grabbed their duffel, running further into the building. The bullet ricocheted off of the umbrella and shot out one of the lights. Thinking quickly, Crowley aimed his watch at Brady and shot a dart at him. He dared a peek from behind the umbrella and tapped his glasses. The path Brady was taking would be illuminated for him. Ducking behind his umbrella again, he remained huddled over, watching a very confused Bart keep firing at him.

Once he heard the familiar _click_ of an empty clip, he stood and closed his umbrella, shaking his head. “Alright, blighter. Are you just going to stand there looking stupid? Or are we going to fight? I must say, I do need to get this over with rather quickly. I have somewhere I need to be. A date with your mother, actually.” He smirked and watched Bart throw the gun in his direction, but easily sidestepped it.

When he looked back at Bart, the young man was charging him. He breathed a soft sigh and stepped to the side again, using the crook of his umbrella to swing Bart around in a circle, eventually slamming him against a nearby concrete column. He didn’t give Bart the chance to retaliate. While Bart was dazed, he donkey kicked him in the small of his back. The shockwave of the impact sent Bart reeling, his head slamming into the column again.

Bart was starting to get angry, which meant he would become more reckless. Crowley ducked under one punch and grabbed his wrist as he dodged out of the way of another. He twisted Bart’s arm to bend him over and kneed him in the face. With a sickening crack, Bart’s arm broke under the pressure Crowley put on him. The idiot still tried to swing at Crowley, but Crowley caught his fist and used it to hit Bart in the nose. He pressed the contact on his signet ring and swung a right hook to collide with the side of Bart’s head.

Bart seized up as 50,000 volts passed through him, eventually rendering him unconscious. Tweedle Dum was down. Now Crowley only had to think about Tweedle Dumber. He looked in the direction that Brady had gone, a sense of relief washing over him that the trail was still illuminated. He didn’t, for an instant, think that Brady was capable of setting up a bomb, so he didn’t so much run as he did trot.

The trail didn’t lead to the stairwell, or the elevator, as Crowley might have thought it would. Maybe Brady was smarter than he gave him credit for. But, in his heart of hearts, he knew that boy was a complete and utter prat.

A sentiment proven to be true as Crowley rounded the corner to see Brady trying to steal something from the vending machines that lined the hall.

“You know, you might be, and I mean this with all sincerity, dead from the neck up,” Crowley said, sauntering a little closer to the poor sod. Brady seemed to be stuck with his hand in the dispensary, so Crowley picked up the duffel and walked several feet away from Brady, completely ignoring his protestations.

Unfortunately for both of them, Brady had armed the bomb before he had disarmed himself. “You moron,” he sighed. Tapping his glasses again, he scanned the bomb for any weaknesses. It was homemade, and it seemed far more advanced for something two jackoffs might have been able to construct. They had help, and they were the fall guys. This ran deeper than Crowley thought.

“Merlin, are you seeing this?”

“Yeah, I’m running a program to learn how to disarm it,” Merlin said, slightly more flustered than his usual droll tone. “Can you see any distinguishing marks? Anything that might give us a hint who might have supplied it?”

Crowley carefully took the bomb out of the duffel and shifted it around in his hands so he could look at it from every angle. Finally, his eyes rested on what looked like a drawing. It was a crude etching, at least, with an inverted egg shape at the center, swirling lines reaching out from it. “Does that symbol mean anything to you?” he asked.

“Not as such.” Merlin was still _tick-tacking_ away on the keyboard, and the bomb was ticking away along with him.

“Merlin, you may want to hurry up. I don’t know how much time this thing has before it explodes, and I’m not too keen on showing up to my own funeral as a Denver omelet.” He started to follow the wires to see where things were plugged in. Sooner than he would have liked, he heard police sirens. Good lord their response time was terrible. “Running out of time, Merlin.”

“Cut the blue wire, then the red one,” he said at last.

Crowley pulled out a butterfly knife, twirling it around his hand to open it before cutting the two wires. The ticking stopped, and he looked at Brady. “Looks like you get to live to die another day,” he said, walking past him and tussling his hair. “Stay there, please. Don’t try to run. I’ll find you if you do.” It may have been an empty threat, but it sounded real enough for Brady.

As the police sirens began to get closer, Crowley ran to the back door and ran across the parking lot to take refuge in the nearby Holiday Inn. He held his watch up to the locking mechanism, and in seconds heard the familiar _click_ of the door unlocking. Almost as soon as he’d stepped inside, he saw the police cars swarm the building. He’d managed to elude suspicion. This time, at least.

As far as he knew.

He casually strolled through the hallway and walked out the front door, whistling his lazy tune as he walked down the street to get to his car. He managed to duck and weave through the police officers, only receiving one sternly worded speech about giving them room to work. He held his hands up defensively and continued about his way to get to his car.

He slid into the driver’s seat and pulled a U turn to avoid getting too close to the police blockade. In his rearview mirror, he saw Bart and Brady being escorted out in handcuffs, and he smiled to himself. Another successful job done. And now, to celebrate.

As he considered what he might want to do to congratulate himself on a job well done, the thought of John floated back through his head. He wasn’t sure why, but suddenly, John was all he could think about. Those blue eyes, that black curl that hung in his forehead, that _accent_. He’d had the pleasure of working with Southern gentlemen before, but there was something about John’s voice that made him weak.

He tried to push John out of his head and focused on where he should go. It was nearing sunset, which meant the pubs would be open by now. Good lord did he need a drink. He pulled out his phone and began searching for nearby pubs. Most of them were shockingly country themed, even considering he was in Nashville. His eye did catch one called “Blend Bar,” which promised not just alcohol, but cigars as well.

When he pulled up to the pub, he frowned. It wasn’t that the place wasn’t classy looking. It was just that it seemed to be more popular than he would have otherwise thought. There were no parking spaces. From where he was sitting, that appeared to be the case for a few blocks. He sighed and parked his car a few blocks away from the pub in the first available space he could find, near the Country Music Hall of Fame. After putting a few coins in the meter, he started heading back down the street.

On his way to the pub, he took in the sights of Downtown Nashville. Everything from the Music City Walk of Fame Park to the family restaurants that speckled the area. He was about to pass by Bajo Sexto Taco when something caught his eye. A young woman was pacing back and forth in front of the restaurant. She looked like she was in a bad way. With a smile, he approached her, careful to leave his hands out of his pockets so she didn’t get spooked. “Pardon me,” he said, “but I couldn’t help but notice … you look hungry.”

The poor girl was startled when she was spoken to. She stared skeptically at the man and took a cautious step back. Crowley, however, didn’t move. This seemed to put her at ease, even if it was just by a little bit. She looked between him and the restaurant before nodding. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Well, why don’t we get something to eat?” He smiled pleasantly and gestured toward the door, bowing slightly in respect.

“Oh, I don’t think they’ll let me in,” she muttered.

“I don’t see why not. If I buy two dinners, I can hardly imagine that they’d begrudge me sharing with a beautiful woman.” That seemed to be the winning combination, because the woman finally smiled and scratched the back of her head. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Anna. Anna Milton.” She smiled, but there was a subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth. Before Crowley could ask what was wrong, she entered the restaurant, but almost immediately lost her nerve again. When Crowley stepped up behind her, she jumped, but relaxed again quickly.

“It’s alright,” he said in a soft voice. “If it’d make you more comfortable, you can wait outside. I’ll bring food out.” Anna nodded gratefully and pushed the doors open again to walk out. Crowley made his way to the counter and ordered two of each kind of taco, and a couple of fountain drinks. It didn’t take long to prepare the tacos, nor did it take long for him to get the drinks. He stepped outside and handed Anna a soft drink. “Chicken, pork, beef, or fish?” he asked with a smile.

Anna looked pleasantly surprised, but took the drink eagerly. “Uhm … Chicken and fish,” she said at last, accepting the bag that was offered to her. “Thank you so much.” If she had been expecting him to give her the food and walk away, she was sorely wrong.

Crowley took a seat next to her on the sidewalk and unwrapped a taco. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” He took an almost dainty bite out of his taco and chased it with some of the soft drink. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how beautiful a city can be this close to twilight.”

Anna was already half done inhaling the second chicken taco when Crowley looked at her. She smiled sheepishly and wiped her mouth off on her sleeve. “I guess a lot of people take it for granted. It’s hard to see the beauty in something you see every day, y’know?”

He smiled and chuckled, nodding in agreement. They chatted about a few things over their tacos. It might have been for 10 minutes, or it could have been an hour. Either way, Anna was smiling more easily. Finally, the sun had set and Crowley really wanted that drink he’d promised himself. He stood and helped Anna up to her feet. “It has been an absolute pleasure to speak with you,” he said with a smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He withdrew a couple of hundred dollar bills and offered them to Anna. When she didn’t touch it, he chuckled and put his wallet away, still offering the money to her. “No conditions, I promise. Just think of it as a thank you for a wonderful chat.” Anna finally reached out to accept the money, and Crowley’s hand closed around hers. “Could I ask you a favor? Find an extended stay hotel and look for some clothes for yourself. It might do you some good to have a roof over your head, even for a little while.”

Anna was absolutely speechless at the gesture and she teared up. Throwing her arms around Crowley, she buried her face in his chest and thanked him profusely.

While she was hugging him, Crowley called a taxi and opened the door for her. He walked around to the driver’s side and tapped on the window with a smile. “Take her to the closest extended stay hotel,” he said, offering the cab driver $50. “That should pay for her ride.” The cab driver shrugged and off they went into the night. Crowley watched the taxi disappear around the corner before starting the walk toward the pub again.

His path was illuminated by various streetlights and neon signs. It almost made him feel like he was home.

Just about the time he saw the sign for Blend Bar, he heard an odd sort of squeaking sound coming from the alley perpendicular to Church St. Curious, he decided to investigate. The closer he got to the noise, the more it seemed to be coming from behind a trash bin. He slowly moved it and what he saw nearly broke his heart.

It was a cocker spaniel puppy, no older than two months. In a city like this, it was likely that the pup’s mom was either a stray, or if she wasn’t, her owners simply hadn’t planned on having puppies.

The pup froze and looked up at Crowley with big brown eyes. As Crowley reached to gently pet it, it recoiled, causing him to stop where he was. He offered his fingers for it to sniff, and it must have decided he was safe, because the next thing Crowley knew, his fingers were getting licked by an adorably pink tongue. He smiled and pat the ground in front of him, and the pup trotted out to greet him.

“Look how darling you are,” he purred, scooping the little thing up into his arms. He noticed the puppy was, in fact, a girl. Crowley smiled and scratched her behind the ears. “How would you like to come with me? I can get you something nicer to eat.” The pup wagged her tail and barked happily. “And you’re going to need a name aren’t you? How about Juliet?”

Juliet seemed to like that well enough and nuzzled into his chest as he held her. Crowley stood and rounded the corner back out of the alley, slipping Juliet into his largest interior pockets in his overcoat. She squeaked out a small bark of approval and curled up in the pocket.

When he finally did reach the pub, he had decided it was less that he needed a drink and more that he promised himself a drink. He opened the door to smell the delicious aroma of high end cigars and single malt scotch. If he didn’t know better, he’d have presumed he walked into Heaven.

Crowley walked over to the bar and took a seat. The bar was an impressive 40 feet long, with hue changing lights. The tender came over and asked for his order, to which he asked for a glass of Glenronach neat, a Davidoff Nicaraguan cigar, and a Cuban sandwich. “And you don’t mind pets, do you?” he asked.

The bartender scoffed, and Crowley assumed that meant no, he didn’t mind. Once the tender’s back was turned, Crowley withdrew Juliet from the pocket she was in and set her on the bar. It seemed the dim lights and delightful aroma were affecting her too, because he curled up and went right to sleep.

Crowley smiled and gently pet her while she slept. He glanced around and, much to his chagrin, there were no attractive men he could see. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe he expected to turn around and see John enjoying a large cigar from Havana. Not seeing that, however, did hurt a little. He looked back at the tender and ran a hand through his hair. What a helluva day.

“Pardon me,” he said just loud enough to catch the barkeep’s attention. “May I have that Cuban sandwich to go?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, shrugging. “You want your cigar for the road, too?”

“Yes, please.” He thought for a moment and knocked on the bar. “Actually, better make it a dozen of those in a humidor.” When the barkeep whistled lowly (they _were_ worth around $500 a piece, after all) Crowley just smirked and held up his card. “Put it all on this.”

The barkeep took the card and rang him out, handed his card back, and left to gather everything for what might have been his best customer all week.

He couldn’t move fast enough, though. Crowley’s thoughts had already drifted back to John. He couldn’t get the John’s image out of his head. That first time he laid eyes on him, that sunkissed skin glowing under the purple neon light, his intense blue eyes sizing him up, that smirk.

Crowley would have given anything to have John there for another night. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was the intrigue of waking up by himself the next morning. He’d initially thought that perhaps John might have just been some guy he had a one night stand with, but now he was starting to think he was the one that was dicked and dumped. It wasn’t something he was used to, that was for sure.

Thankfully, the barkeep came back to jolt him back out of his thoughts with a to-go bag. “Did you still want that drink?” he asked.

“You know what? I’ll buy a bottle of it.” He handed his card back over to the barkeep and, once the transaction was completed and the bottle was in hand, gathered his things and headed out.

The walk back to the car didn’t take quite as long as the walk to the pub, but it was no wonder. The streets were empty now, and the only sounds were of Crowley’s oxfords clicking down the sidewalk, and an occasional yawn from Juliet. The drive to the hotel was equally as uneventful.

When he finally did reach the executive suite, he slid his key through the lock and entered. He pulled Juliet from his inner pocket and sat her on the bed so he could get comfortable. Which, of course, meant mostly bare. After he poured himself a glass of scotch and unwrapped the Cuban sandwich, he laid on the bed. Juliet wasted no time in climbing up to sit on his chest. Crowley laughed and started to hand feed her bits of pork from the sandwich. He spoke to her in nonsense words, much like how one would talk to a baby. Frankly, this might have been the closest he would ever come to having a child, and he had made his peace with that.

At what might have been the most inopportune time, his mind wandered back to John. Again. He wasn’t sure what it was about that man that kept him on his mind, but he was sure he needed to get it out of his system. He was probably never going to see the blasted man again, so why was he so unglued?

He lifted a now sleeping Juliet off of his chest and wandered toward the bathroom, letting his silk boxers slide to the ground. A turn of the knob and the shower was running hot, just hot enough for Crowley to notice it. He stepped into the stream of water and let his mind wander.

He imagined John in the shower with him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, breath hot against his skin. He could imagine hands sliding across his chest and down his body, pulling him against a warm body.

Crowley took his length in hand and began working himself to full hardness. He leaned heavily against the tiled wall and groaned as he stroked his cock, while memories of John came flooding back to him, along with visions of what might have been. In his mind he was laying on a plush, down bed, and John was looming over him. Pressing soft kisses to his body. His moans grew louder as his mind finished the picture. John’s full, pink lips sinking down onto his hard cock.

His grip on himself tightened and he started to stroke himself faster, bracing himself against the tile with his free hand. As his release hit him and he spilled into the shower, eyes fluttering shut from the sensation, he cried out John’s name, passionately. Crowley caught his breath and shut off the shower, stepping out and reaching for a towel. He pat himself dry and slipped his boxers back on, deciding not to care if they got a little damp. He was only going to go to sleep.

Slipping between the sheets, he curled protectively around Juliet and slowly drifted off into dreamland.


	5. AKA Watching

When Michael rolled up onto the scene, the police were still questioning witnesses. Or, at least, people who thought they saw what had happened. One woman swore that the British guy had pulled a gun on the two boys and tried to hold the building hostage. Michael had watched the events unfold on the security cameras, and he knew better. Unfortunately, he’d gotten the order to head out and clean up the scene before he could see how it all had ended.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, flashing his credentials to the officer in charge before heading into the clinic. To his surprise, the two idiots that tried to bomb the place were still alive. Whoever it was that Mark was working for had trained him not to take a life if he didn’t have to. But then, why did Mark shoot Dick Roman? He knew his answers would be hard to come by until he had another face to face with Mark, if that even was his real name.

The two boys, Bart and Brady, were being escorted by a couple of officers. Michael stopped them and flashed his credentials again before waving the officers off. “Alright, you two. You’re going to tell me what happened here.”

“What makes you think we’re going to talk to you without a lawyer?” Brady asked, trying to puff his chest out to intimidate Michael. What he didn’t count on was that Michael was built better than him and he could easily take him in a fight. He also didn’t seem to remember that he was handcuffed and Michael wasn’t. “I know my rights.”

“Tell ya what.” Michael set a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m not a cop, I don’t care about your rights, and I don’t have to follow the same rules as the officers that are _definitely_ going to take you to jail. So why don’t you do yourself a favor and answer my questions, or I will absolutely make you regret pulling an attitude with me”

Brady froze, but Bart scoffed. “You’re not gonna listen to this asshole, are you?” Bart looked at Brady, grin wiped from his face when he saw the expression on Brady’s face. “This guy’s clearly bluffing!”

“No,” Brady said, quietly. “No, he’s not.” His face went pale as he realized what kind of precarious situation he was in. “This guy is for real.”

“There, now you’re catching on. You know, you’re not as stupid as you look.” Michael smiled a little too nicely before squeezing Brady’s shoulder painfully. “So. You two were going to bomb the clinic. Is that right?” He squeezed again and Brady quickly nodded. Michael had, evidently, put the fear of god in him. “And the man who stopped you. What did he do?”

“He talked to himself for a bit and disarmed the bomb.” Brady was straining to talk. Michael was squeezing the shoulder he’d gotten caught in the vending machine. “He knocked Bart out and came for me, but all he wanted was the case. Didn’t even ask _me_ to disarm it. Just … did it himself.”

“You’re sure that’s all?” Michael asked, stern look etched into his face. “He didn’t do anything sketchy? Just … stopped you two from tacking on a few dozen life sentences and left?”

Bart and Brady looked at each other, apparently having not thought about it like that. “Yeah, I guess that’s what happened,” Bart said, but before he could finish his thought, he frowned and got up in Michael’s face. “Who the hell even are you and why do you want to know so much?”

“Me?” Michael smirked and brought them both closer. “I’m the one that’s gonna make sure you idiots are locked away. Thank you for your cooperation.” He pat them both on the shoulder and walked over to the pair of officers that were examining the device found in Brady’s duffel. Michael politely asked to see the device and, since he’d gotten past the police tape, they decided to go ahead and trust him. Why? Michael would never really know. There was a reason most other government agencies made fun of the police.

From a cursory glance, he couldn’t really see anything too out of the ordinary. It did seem a little advanced for a couple of idiots to have made at home, but there were youtube tutorials for everything these days. He turned the disarmed bomb around in his hands and his eyes fell on something that was, indeed, rather interesting. It was crude, but there was an etching in the side of the bomb, though it wasn’t easy to make out what it was. He took a picture of the symbol with his phone and thanked the officers for their time, heading in the direction of his car.

Almost as soon as he slid into the driver’s seat, he got a text about his surveillance project, saying that ‘Mark’ had disappeared after the bombing, but he may have resurfaced. He wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t able to stop himself from smiling at the thought of being able to see what Mark would do next. So far, everything he’d learned about him pointed to him being one of the good guys, but he couldn’t forget that he _did_ kill a man in cold blood. That was some important information to remember. Still, he didn’t kill the two kids, when clearly he had the chance.

The traffic was surprisingly clear on the way back to headquarters, but he supposed after a bomb threat became public, people might have been reluctant to drive around. Hell, he had been watching the beginnings of the conflict, and if it wasn’t for the punitive task of having to interview the two Aryan idiots, he might have stayed in the office and trusted Mark to take care of things.

But, life wasn’t perfect, and Shield had decided he needed to be punished for letting Dick Roman die. There wasn’t much Michael could do to about it. His job done, though, he was eager to get back to headquarters to try to pinpoint Mark again.

Once back at his workstation, he logged into his computer and started scanning the security cameras. He had uploaded a picture of Mark from his sunglasses and had started scanning every camera in the city with facial recognition sequences. Dozens of matches came up, though he could tell not all of them were Mark. With a heavy sigh, Michael began narrowing the search.

Eventually, he did find Mark, getting out of his car on Church St. He zoomed in to confirm he was seeing Mark and smiled. For the first time in days, he’d managed to find Mark, real time, and he had to admit. The man was attractive. As much as he needed to put aside his own infatuation with the man and get back to business, he was secretly hoping he could find something wrong with Mark. Something irredeemable that would snap him out of this little crush he had. He needed to maintain some level of professionalism and refocus on the mission of finding out who Mark worked for.

Just as the thought passed through his mind, however, he watched Mark stop and talk to someone. A girl. A closer look showed that the girl was very homeless. Maybe this would be it. Mark would do something absolutely despicable to that girl, and Michael would snap out of it. Before he could put all of his eggs in one basket, however, he watched the two of them head into the nearby restaurant. That was curious. Was the girl some sort of informant?

Soon enough, the girl came out of the restaurant alone. Curiouser and curiouser. A few moments later, when Mark reemerged from the establishment, carrying two bags, Michael leaned in closer. Was he … buying the homeless girl a meal? Michael expected the man to keep walking, but instead, they sat on the curb and ate. He could tell there was conversation, but he was entirely clueless what the conversation was about.

It seemed as though they had been talking forever before they finished their meals, and Mark just … got up and left. Michael gaped. What kind of jaded person had he become, that he expected Mark to demand something for his kindness? He sighed and retuned his attention to the screens.

Before long, he watched Mark stop in front of an alley. This had to be it. As Mark disappeared into the alley, Michael watched the other feeds to see if he could see what was going on in the darkness. Maybe he was going to break into someone’s house. Or maybe he was going to kill someone. Anything that would prove he was a bad man.

When Mark emerged, however, Michael could only barely make out what he was carrying. He had expected a briefcase, maybe a manila envelope, but what Mark held in his hands defied expectation. From what Michael could see, Mark was carrying a small dog. A puppy, maybe.

He could barely get over his shock before he was called away to a meeting. Michael pulled up the surveillance footage on his tablet to keep an eye on Mark, but he was hardly given a chance to watch the feed. When he entered the briefing room, Gabriel was already arguing with Shield.

“What the FUCK is your problem, Luci?” he shouted. “That Dick Roman asshole was going to get shot sooner or later. When you’re that divisive, you’re basically asking for it!”

“Regardless of whether or not he was going to get shot or not, you can’t change the fact that he got shot on OUR watch!” Shield spoke softly, yet dangerously. However, Messenger didn’t seem to take the hint and just kept yelling.

“It’s not Michael’s FAULT!” Messenger was practically flailing, as he usually did while arguing. Michael seemed to remember asking him about that once, and the answer he got was something along the lines of, ‘It makes me look bigger.’

“Would you stop shouting?” Lucifer asked, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “A mistake was made. We have to-“

“He is a FERRARI!” he shouted, flailing more wildly. “You don’t keep a FERRARI in the GARAGE!”

“Actually,” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, “most people do. Because, y’know, they’re extremely valuable.” He sighed and looked at Gabriel. “You know what? I’m not going to argue with you. You get a week of cleanup.”

“What?!” Gabe shouted. “Why?! Because we let a prick get shot?”

“Two weeks.”

“At a HATE rally?”

“Three weeks.”

“I mean, he was asking for it.”

“A month. Another word out of you and it’ll be two.”

Gabriel was silent for a long time, and just as Lucifer was about to turn to talk to Michael, Gabriel sighed. “Word.”

“I hate you, Messenger.” Lucifer sighed and looked at Michael. “What have you found out about the shooter?” he asked.

Michael looked between the two of them, half expecting them to start arguing again, but Gabriel had been effectively shut up. “I’ve gotten almost no progress,” he lied. He wasn’t even sure why he was lying. Was it to protect this man he barely knew? Maybe. He knew what Lucifer would do, given the chance, and Mark seemed to be a lot … well, nicer than he would have expected an assassin to be. It was hard to tell what HOST would do, given the opportunity. Maybe just a little more recon work might help him decide what to do about this whole thing.

“You’ve made almost no progress in three days?” Lucifer seemed skeptical, and he had every right to be. Michael was possibly the best agent HOST had ever seen. Still, Lucifer shook his head and sighed. “Alright, fine. Don’t tell me. Just, do me a favor and do your job.”

Michael’s face remained blank, but inside his head, he was starting to wonder if Lucifer knew about their hookup. Maybe Lucifer knew more than he was letting on. Michael pushed the thought out of his head and nodded. “Of course,” he said after a brief moment of silence. “Is that all you wanted me for? Can I get back to work?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, you can go back to work.”

With a nod, Michael turned on his heel and marched away. What a power move, pulling him away from his work just to ask if he’d been working. What was even the point? Of course, now the thought crossed his mind that Lucifer _did_ know more than he was letting on. This made Michael a little nervous, but he couldn’t exactly let it show while he was in the building.

As he sat back at his workstation in his office, he glanced around the surveillance feeds for Mark. He couldn’t find him. Before the panic began to set it, he caught a glimpse of Mark in his hotel room, playing with the dog he’d rescued. Good lord, the dog was barely a puppy. Michael’s heart melted just a little upon seeing that. He caught himself wondering how a man that would rescue a puppy could possibly be that bad.

A few moments later, Mark seemed to be putting the sleeping puppy down and walking into the bathroom. Michael switched the feeds to be able to watch him, prepared to look away if he was doing something he didn’t want to see.

But Mark was undressing himself. He watched as Mark stepped into the shower. Michael’s mind wandered back to the night they spent together, and how he kind of regretted not being able to say goodbye to him. It still bothered him, but he tried to convince himself it was just because he was more polite than that, but now he was starting to wonder if there wasn’t something more to it.

And now he was watching the man shower.

It was possibly one of the most awkward feelings he’d felt in a long time. Not necessarily because he was watching a total stranger (which Mark may as well have been) shower, but because he kind of _wanted_ to watch him. It was his job, he told himself, to keep his eyes on Mark. And times like this? He was definitely going to feel a little guilty.

But why guilt? That’s what he couldn’t figure out. This man was a killer. A cold blooded killer. He murdered a man in broad daylight, in front of a crowd of people. He had to keep telling himself that, but watching the man care so tenderly for that puppy made him start to reevaluate his opinions.

Before too long, Mark had slipped under the covers and was off to sleep. Michael yawned and pushed himself away from his desk, stretching his arms high above his head. He could feel a pop in his back, but that was to be expected after sitting at his desk all day.

Picking his tablet up, he set the device up to mirror the monitor, and headed to his hotel.


End file.
